I wrote this post in my head at about 4am this Saturday morning, when I awoke with anxiety about next school year. The past few weeks, every teacher’s lounge and every staff meeting has been doom-and-gloom about the state of our school district’s education budget being slashed. Symbolically, every March 15th, in budget shortfall years, staff get “you might be laid off” letters. This year, we may lose some school psychologists for the first time in my 9 years in the profession. It’s bad, people.
I may even be laid off due to an administrative rule that puts me in the same category as a first year employee, despite 9 years of experience. I switched districts and I worked part time some of my years, so basically none of my years count in seniority. Awesome. The way layoffs go down in a school district is not by performance, evaluations, or any other reasonable criteria, but by “last hired, first fired” or in my case, “let go because you worked part time a few years.” Some of the most talented teachers I know are in their first or second years in the profession, and they are the first to be cut.
So friends, I sincerely hope that I don’t have to change the name of my blog from “Notes from the School Psychologist Blog” to “Notes from the Former School Psychologist Who Now Works in the Private Sector with no Health Insurance but Still Believes in Public Education and Can’t Work There With Kids Who Need it Blog.” Not as catchy.
Even if I am spared my job, the budget picture is bleak. My school principals have had to cut most support staff. That means that my placement at my middle school would be only four hours a week and my placement at my elementary school would also be a whopping four hours. Goodbye counseling services, goodbye teacher and parent consultation, parent support groups, counseling groups, prevention activities, and all the things I love. Hello testing one kid, writing a report, going to a meeting and leaving. I will be sad to tell my students I see in counseling that I can no longer see them. Sorry about your abandonment issues, poppits.
My schools have also had to cut all supply budgets. No copier repair funds, no supplies. What enrages me is that I bet Goldman Sachs has never spent a day without a functioning copier or pens and pencils. I bet the Bank of America CEO and his cronies have never had to share one pen with three other people in a cramped janitor’s closet. Why can we bail out the foolios who got us in the recession and turn our backs on the students and teachers? Oh, and how much are we spending in Afghanistan again? Ah that’s right 6.7 billion per month. Do you know what California schools could do with just one month of the war budget? I rarely get all political on this blog, but I see how our kids and school staff will be suffering at no fault of their own, and I have a deep sense of sadness and anger.
I wish I could put a more positive spin on this post. All I can do is to encourage anyone who lives in a city where there will be a special election about funding for schools, please, please, I beg you to get your family and friends to vote for a small increase in tax to keep public schools functioning. I just hope our neighbors aren't penny-wise and pound-foolish. Investment in smaller class sizes, mental health professionals, quality teachers, and supplies to learn prevents school failure and the high cost of special education, not to mention the societal cost of drop out.
As for the Ides of March, I will be stalking the mailman on the 15th to see if I have been stabbed in the back 23 times by the Congress, just like Julius Caesar. Stay tuned...
Showing posts with label Wackness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wackness. Show all posts
Saturday, 5 March 2011
Sunday, 29 August 2010
This Week, with Debbie Downer
Husband is so great. Whenever there’s a news show about education, he TiVos it for me and we watch it together. Even on our 1st anniversary, while vacationing, he noticed that CSPAN was covering an education debate and we watched it together. He even lets me yell at the TV, and pauses for my commentary. Now that’s true love, right? So many times, I would love to hop in the TV and shake the politicians who don’t get it.
Case and point: This morning,“This Week with Christiane Amanpour” had its yearly education debate. I say yearly, because they NEVER talk about education on these shows except for the one week before school starts. Education gets the shaft in coverage on the news. So this morning, I got all excited for my 8-minute segment about education.
Then, Arne Duncan, Education Secretary opened his mouth. Allow me to summarize:
We need to do what works and not do what doesn’t work!
Randi Weingarten, president of American Federation of Teachers added,
We should start doing what works and stop doing what doesn’t!
Michelle Rhee, chancellor or DC schools:
We should keep good teachers and get rid of bad teachers.
AAARRRG. I suppose it is hard to get to anything of substance in 8 minutes, to their credit. There was some banter about teacher evaluations and student performance that had some actual substance, but if I was left with only stupid talking points. Mind you, none of those talking points mentioned mental and physical health as a component in student achievement.
*Dusts off soap box*
People. You can’t learn if you don’t feel well emotionally or physically. You can be the best teacher in the world, but if your students come to you with trauma and bad health, you have a greater challenge. Poverty is no longer a sentence for underachievement, but it certainly makes things harder for teachers, who have to be teacher, social worker, mom, educator, and advocate. What is the incentive for teachers and school psychologists to work in poorer schools, with less resources and more challenges? I mean, other than the obvious great sense of civic pride, social justice, and great cocktail conversations (e.g. “Today I talked a kid with a knife down from a flagpole. How was your day?).?*
*Sigh*
The politicians just don’t get it. They aren’t at the schools every day, trying to close the achievement gap from a janitor’s closet or shoddy classroom with outdated computers that don’t print, and no materials or support. Wake up, people. As my dear Internet BFF Mrs. Mimi says, “You can’t fire poverty, so they fire teachers.” Are there crap teachers I wish would go away? Yes. Are there super teachers who should get paid CEO salaries for all they do? Yes. But blaming the teachers is not right. So, what should we do? I don’t want to be all Arne on you and say “let’s be innovative and do new things!” and have no substance.
My answer is simple and biased.
In high poverty schools, hire more mental health professionals. It’s a simple Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs situation. If you don’t have your primary needs of safety, food, health, and belonging, you are less free emotionally to learn. Think of a time when you just found out a friend or family member died. Maybe you have a time in your life when you were a victim of a crime—think of your emotional state. Or even think of a really difficult time in your life when you weren’t sure if you could pay your bills. Did you feel free to sit down and read a novel for fun? Were you inclined to do algebra algorithms to soothe yourself? Or did you need support from another human being to get back to functioning normally? Well imagine you are a kid with trauma or worries and you don’t have strong coping skills or an adult to support you. You are not ready for learning. Often, our teachers in poor areas become de-facto counselors as well as teachers.
I am always struck by the contrast between my poorer schools and my more affluent schools. Each year, I return to school by going to my multiple sites and sitting in on professional developments. Year after year, in the poorer schools, we talk about sparking motivation and a sense of safety and belonging in students, and we try to garner outside resources we could pull in to help our students. In my schools in affluent neighborhoods, we talk about new composting programs, new PTA-sponsored programs, and how hard it is to show improvement in test scores when the majority of the school is already at the top.
Is anyone else depressed? So sorry to be all Jonathan Kozel on you. I’ll leave you with this palate-cleansing image:
Now, we go forth and do the good work that we know makes a difference. Even if our test scores don’t always show it. Oh, and grab yourself an awesome spouse who lets you rant about education all the time. It really helps.
*Awesome side note: At my reading for The Teachable Moment, a presenter overhead an audiance member say, "Wow, I had no idea school psychologists were so...gritty." Spread the word. We are full of courage and resolve. Also, covered in grit.
Case and point: This morning,“This Week with Christiane Amanpour” had its yearly education debate. I say yearly, because they NEVER talk about education on these shows except for the one week before school starts. Education gets the shaft in coverage on the news. So this morning, I got all excited for my 8-minute segment about education.
Then, Arne Duncan, Education Secretary opened his mouth. Allow me to summarize:
We need to do what works and not do what doesn’t work!
Randi Weingarten, president of American Federation of Teachers added,
We should start doing what works and stop doing what doesn’t!
Michelle Rhee, chancellor or DC schools:
We should keep good teachers and get rid of bad teachers.
AAARRRG. I suppose it is hard to get to anything of substance in 8 minutes, to their credit. There was some banter about teacher evaluations and student performance that had some actual substance, but if I was left with only stupid talking points. Mind you, none of those talking points mentioned mental and physical health as a component in student achievement.
*Dusts off soap box*
People. You can’t learn if you don’t feel well emotionally or physically. You can be the best teacher in the world, but if your students come to you with trauma and bad health, you have a greater challenge. Poverty is no longer a sentence for underachievement, but it certainly makes things harder for teachers, who have to be teacher, social worker, mom, educator, and advocate. What is the incentive for teachers and school psychologists to work in poorer schools, with less resources and more challenges? I mean, other than the obvious great sense of civic pride, social justice, and great cocktail conversations (e.g. “Today I talked a kid with a knife down from a flagpole. How was your day?).?*
*Sigh*
The politicians just don’t get it. They aren’t at the schools every day, trying to close the achievement gap from a janitor’s closet or shoddy classroom with outdated computers that don’t print, and no materials or support. Wake up, people. As my dear Internet BFF Mrs. Mimi says, “You can’t fire poverty, so they fire teachers.” Are there crap teachers I wish would go away? Yes. Are there super teachers who should get paid CEO salaries for all they do? Yes. But blaming the teachers is not right. So, what should we do? I don’t want to be all Arne on you and say “let’s be innovative and do new things!” and have no substance.
My answer is simple and biased.
In high poverty schools, hire more mental health professionals. It’s a simple Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs situation. If you don’t have your primary needs of safety, food, health, and belonging, you are less free emotionally to learn. Think of a time when you just found out a friend or family member died. Maybe you have a time in your life when you were a victim of a crime—think of your emotional state. Or even think of a really difficult time in your life when you weren’t sure if you could pay your bills. Did you feel free to sit down and read a novel for fun? Were you inclined to do algebra algorithms to soothe yourself? Or did you need support from another human being to get back to functioning normally? Well imagine you are a kid with trauma or worries and you don’t have strong coping skills or an adult to support you. You are not ready for learning. Often, our teachers in poor areas become de-facto counselors as well as teachers.
I am always struck by the contrast between my poorer schools and my more affluent schools. Each year, I return to school by going to my multiple sites and sitting in on professional developments. Year after year, in the poorer schools, we talk about sparking motivation and a sense of safety and belonging in students, and we try to garner outside resources we could pull in to help our students. In my schools in affluent neighborhoods, we talk about new composting programs, new PTA-sponsored programs, and how hard it is to show improvement in test scores when the majority of the school is already at the top.
Is anyone else depressed? So sorry to be all Jonathan Kozel on you. I’ll leave you with this palate-cleansing image:
Now, we go forth and do the good work that we know makes a difference. Even if our test scores don’t always show it. Oh, and grab yourself an awesome spouse who lets you rant about education all the time. It really helps.
*Awesome side note: At my reading for The Teachable Moment, a presenter overhead an audiance member say, "Wow, I had no idea school psychologists were so...gritty." Spread the word. We are full of courage and resolve. Also, covered in grit.
Saturday, 31 July 2010
Did You See The Memo About…Interventions?
I’m starting a new series on this blog, called “Did You See The Memo?” because there are so many things I have to say in my job in urban public schools over and over and over and over and over again. And then one more time after that. And again. You get the point. Like that annoying boss in Office Space, I am that person asking if you got the memo about [insert special education referral process question] more than I would like to be. In the public schools, school psychologists are often the "gatekeepers" to special education assessments, deciding who can proceed for testing and who cannot. It is a role I hate, because all that energy could be spent on doing interventions with kids instead of fighting off inappropriate referrals. I know, I know, it's my job, but after 10 years of saying the same thing, you start to wonder if you have turned into a psych-bot-info-kiosk. It's one of the reasons I started this blog. You know, to mix it up. At times, I’ve fantasized about recording a conversation I have repeatedly, and then playing it back to people as needed instead of saying things again and again. Or, I could just type up the script and hand it over as a memo. That would create a lot of crying trees though, and like that fairy in Fern Gully, can’t you feel its pain?
The good news is (you know me, all about the silver lining) is that I’ve gotten pretty good at some of my schpeals (sp?) and I now get to share them with you. If you are a school psychologist, you will be nodding your head and saying, “YES. This sounds familiar.” If you are a teacher or parent who has been on the receiving end of this memo, know that I hate saying it as much as you hate hearing it. I get it. You want help for the student, and special education seems like a reasonable place to start. It can't start there for a number of reasons.*
The conversation that follows is one I have had 6, maybe 7,000 times, and it's time to convert it to a memo. It’s called:
“You can’t refer a child for special education without trying general education interventions first.”
How many of you have heard or given this speech?
Here’s the logic behind it. If you have a student struggling in reading, and he or she is not responding to the general education curriculum, standard teaching practices, or even extra help in the classroom, you begin to wonder why. Fair enough. I do too. Now let’s say I test this student (we’ll call her Sally), for a reading disability. Let’s say she has one. The intervention is to target her reading deficits and help her learn strategies. Let’s say Sally does not have a reading disability. The intervention is to target her reading deficits and help her learn strategies. Whoa! They’re the same. That’s right. There is no magical reading dust in special education, it is really just targeted intervention in the area of need with ongoing progress monitoring. A lot of the time, special education is basically just good teaching.
So I say, why not give Sally intervention in the first place, when she first shows signs of difficulty, way before she is so far behind that we spend 6 months in a bureaucratic-laden process to call her “disabled”? If after 6 months of intervention and good data collection, you will have a lot of information to work with if you end up doing an evaluation. But logic will get you nowhere in a school district that is under-resourced or hasn't bought into a response to intervention(RtI) framework yet.
All too frequently, special education becomes the only intervention, and that is just sad. There has to be an intervention before you can make a case that you need special intervention. Also, not all students with disabilities need special education. They may just need modifications in the general classroom. That is why I am repeatedly asking what interventions have been done in general education before I will entertain the need for a special education evaluation. I need to be convinced the problem can’t be remediated with targeted intervention in general education before I suspect a disability or a need for special education. Nevermind that you could go through the whole special education testing process and find there is no disability and that whole time you could have been doing something for the student.
Also, one of the “rule outs” of learning disability is that the problem isn’t due to other factors (second language acquisition issues, hearing or vision issues, poor instructional opportunities, poor attendance, etc). You can’t find out if the problem is truly neurological unless you rule out the environmental causes. The best way to do that is to provide the intervention and see if the student responds to it.
Now let’s make an important distinction between supports and interventions. I have sat in many student success team meetings (they are called several different names, but they are basically strategic parent-student-teacher-specialists meetings where interventions are generated for a struggling student.) At these meetings, ideas are generated about how to help students. Nine times out of ten, the “interventions” are actually supports. Here’s what I mean. Let’s play “spot the intervention” in the list below:
1) Sally will do her homework at a special desk at home
2) Sally will remain on task during silent reading
3) Mom will read with Sally 20 minutes a day
4) Mom will peak in the classroom from time to time to make sure Sally is working
5) Sally will not flirt with boys during silent reading time.
Ha! Trick question! There are no interventions in that list. There are only supports and expectations for Sally. So let’s put yourself in Sally’s shoes through an analogy. Let’s say you are in a foreign country and you are having difficulties reading in that language. Let’s say it’s Mandarin. Let’s say you get the 5 “interventions” above. Will this help your reading? Meh. Maybe? Or if you don’t know what you’re reading and you don’t have the skills, you might just sit at your special desk at home or during silent reading and just stare at the books you can't read. And as an added bonus, your mom is checking in on you and you can’t do fun stuff like interact with others. Now let’s say the intervention is a 6 week program with a Mandarin reading tutor who teaches you vocabulary, sound-symbol correspondence, Mandarin pronunciation, and does guided reading with you to give you corrective feedback. Will this help your reading? Um, I’m pretty sure it would.
The bonus is you can also do intervention PLUS supports. Just don’t leave out the intervention and then expect a school psychologist to take your referral for testing a student for a disability seriously. My eyes hurt sometimes from holding back the eye-rolling when I see only supports on pre-referral paperwork. I know the referrals come from a place of caring for the student and wanting to see progress. But let’s not be surprised when students have no intervention and do not progress. Friends, it’s not that your school psychologist doesn’t want to test the student for a disability, it’s that s/he doesn’t have any evidence that the problem can’t be remediated with a decent targeted intervention. And this is a clause that is in the law that we have to consider. It's a two part deal: 1) Have a disability, 2) Need special education. So if the students needs can be met in general education, no matter what their processing and IQ scores are, they don't qualify for special education. You can't find that out if you haven't tried targeted interventions first.
Sadly, here’s the rub. At some school sites, there are no decent targeted interventions because the school can’t afford a reading specialist or intervention specialist. Not all parents can afford outside support either. And here we have the perfect example of theory and practice being at odds. I totally get why special education is so popular as an "intervention." And I know teachers are doing their best with the resources they (don't) have. I get that they get blamed if the student is not progressing. And parents worry that their child will slip through the cracks. I'm with you. But I fear if urban public schools don't shift to RtI soon, I will have to bust out my memo for years to come. And nobody likes the person with the daily memo that says the same thing. Yeah....
*It can start there in the private sector. There is nothing stopping any interested parent from getting a private evaluation to undercover a student's learning strengths and areas of need and if there is disability causing academic or social challenges. In the public schools, its a whole another ball of legal and procedural wax. So to speak.
Friday, 30 October 2009
Making Lemonade, Blog Posts, and Whatnot
I accidentally got up at 6am today instead of 7am, and did not realize it until I was fully dressed, ready to go to school. Super. So in the interest of being a good time manager, I bring to you, my monthly post.*
I was recently assigned a new school, which I will affectionately call Stepford Elementary School. Now, I am typically assigned to the schools no one wants, by request. If someone makes a face like they are smelling something bad when I say the school’s name, all the better. I like being at cocktail parties and saying, “I coaxed a child wielding a knife down from a flagpole today. (Sips cocktail) How was your day?" I enjoy working with high-needs populations because I feel like I can make a difference. I can see kids whose parents are well-intentioned, but overwhelmed, and can not take breaks from their 3 jobs to take their child to a counselor or learning specialist. Sure, there is a lot of “action” at these schools, but I have seen principals work tirelessly to make these schools better for the kids, and there are a lot of really innovative ideas and programs that inspire me on a daily basis.
So you can imagine my surprise as I walk up to Stepford Elementary and hear a parent out front say, “You know, Douglas, I just really didn’t like the colonial architecture so we didn’t buy the 4-bedroom.” Where am I? Is this the same town? I had never this high up the hills of my urban district before. I was not in Kansas anymore (read Kansas with a Latino accent, please).
I am greeted by the secretary and directed to a fancy schmancy sign-in computer that logs your time of entry and prints out your nametag all pretty for you. For a non-educator, that doesn’t sound fancy, but trust me, usually there are 47 binders for signing in and you can’t find the one you need or a pen. I’m taken to my office, and there is a computer, an Internet connection, AND! AND! an electrical outlet. At my other school, I engage in this long trip wire situation across the auditorium to plug in my little space heater. It keeps it warm, and it keeps the kids from sneaking up on me.
As I visit classes, I hear the following:
“That homework was the funnest EVER!”
“Yea! Long Division!”
“This bookmark I’m making is for my business, AJ’s Bookmarks. EVERYONE has a business these days. Check me out at my website.” (from the mouth of a 10 year old, mind you)
“The PTA raised 2 million dollars for that building.”
“We have an emergency. Clara in second grade wrote something offensive.” (I read this offensive thing. I think I was using the wrong lens to interpret it because I was impressed that a) she wrote it on PAPER, not on public property! And b) she used correct punctuation in replacing the “g” on $%@$ing with an apostrophe. Good for you, Clara!)
And most peculiar of all: No one locks anything. I asked for the key to my office and they looked at me funny. The teachers just LEAVE THEIR PURSES BY THEIR DESKS. Envelopes collecting money are left on the doors of the classroom. Kids are raising their hands and politely saying brilliant things and making connections like, “This reminds me of when I lived in China for the summer and saw a Bengal Tiger.” What is going on here?
I felt like a kid visiting her rich aunt and uncle for the first time. Ooh! They have a POOL! (They do, by the way, also have a pool. The school. Not my aunt and uncle.). How can this school be in the same public school district as the others where I work? I obviously knew that some schools’ PTAs make up for the lack of district funding and can deliver better services, and I knew there was a difference between private and public, and yes, I've read 8 hojillion articles on the disparity in education, but I had forgotten how stark the contrast is until I saw it again with my own two eyes.
Sigh. Now what? I guess I’m off to my other school now to try to help my students achieve the same high standards even thought they didn’t have equal developmental conditions and they certainly don’t have equal schools.
Bitter, Party of 1? You’re table is ready. Who me? I’ll have lemonade. I’m going to figure out a way to make it better. No hero complex here. But if I start playing “Gansta’s Paradise” on the way to school and start fancying myself a Michelle Pfeiffer who will use radical teaching methods such as “listening”, in an effort to save the poor children, do slap me.
*I don’t mean to have a monthly post! I have been going down a shame spiral for not posting. But remember how I said if you didn’t hear from me for a while, I was probably not unlike that kitten hanging from a branch?
I was recently assigned a new school, which I will affectionately call Stepford Elementary School. Now, I am typically assigned to the schools no one wants, by request. If someone makes a face like they are smelling something bad when I say the school’s name, all the better. I like being at cocktail parties and saying, “I coaxed a child wielding a knife down from a flagpole today. (Sips cocktail) How was your day?" I enjoy working with high-needs populations because I feel like I can make a difference. I can see kids whose parents are well-intentioned, but overwhelmed, and can not take breaks from their 3 jobs to take their child to a counselor or learning specialist. Sure, there is a lot of “action” at these schools, but I have seen principals work tirelessly to make these schools better for the kids, and there are a lot of really innovative ideas and programs that inspire me on a daily basis.
So you can imagine my surprise as I walk up to Stepford Elementary and hear a parent out front say, “You know, Douglas, I just really didn’t like the colonial architecture so we didn’t buy the 4-bedroom.” Where am I? Is this the same town? I had never this high up the hills of my urban district before. I was not in Kansas anymore (read Kansas with a Latino accent, please).
I am greeted by the secretary and directed to a fancy schmancy sign-in computer that logs your time of entry and prints out your nametag all pretty for you. For a non-educator, that doesn’t sound fancy, but trust me, usually there are 47 binders for signing in and you can’t find the one you need or a pen. I’m taken to my office, and there is a computer, an Internet connection, AND! AND! an electrical outlet. At my other school, I engage in this long trip wire situation across the auditorium to plug in my little space heater. It keeps it warm, and it keeps the kids from sneaking up on me.
As I visit classes, I hear the following:
“That homework was the funnest EVER!”
“Yea! Long Division!”
“This bookmark I’m making is for my business, AJ’s Bookmarks. EVERYONE has a business these days. Check me out at my website.” (from the mouth of a 10 year old, mind you)
“The PTA raised 2 million dollars for that building.”
“We have an emergency. Clara in second grade wrote something offensive.” (I read this offensive thing. I think I was using the wrong lens to interpret it because I was impressed that a) she wrote it on PAPER, not on public property! And b) she used correct punctuation in replacing the “g” on $%@$ing with an apostrophe. Good for you, Clara!)
And most peculiar of all: No one locks anything. I asked for the key to my office and they looked at me funny. The teachers just LEAVE THEIR PURSES BY THEIR DESKS. Envelopes collecting money are left on the doors of the classroom. Kids are raising their hands and politely saying brilliant things and making connections like, “This reminds me of when I lived in China for the summer and saw a Bengal Tiger.” What is going on here?
I felt like a kid visiting her rich aunt and uncle for the first time. Ooh! They have a POOL! (They do, by the way, also have a pool. The school. Not my aunt and uncle.). How can this school be in the same public school district as the others where I work? I obviously knew that some schools’ PTAs make up for the lack of district funding and can deliver better services, and I knew there was a difference between private and public, and yes, I've read 8 hojillion articles on the disparity in education, but I had forgotten how stark the contrast is until I saw it again with my own two eyes.
Sigh. Now what? I guess I’m off to my other school now to try to help my students achieve the same high standards even thought they didn’t have equal developmental conditions and they certainly don’t have equal schools.
Bitter, Party of 1? You’re table is ready. Who me? I’ll have lemonade. I’m going to figure out a way to make it better. No hero complex here. But if I start playing “Gansta’s Paradise” on the way to school and start fancying myself a Michelle Pfeiffer who will use radical teaching methods such as “listening”, in an effort to save the poor children, do slap me.
*I don’t mean to have a monthly post! I have been going down a shame spiral for not posting. But remember how I said if you didn’t hear from me for a while, I was probably not unlike that kitten hanging from a branch?
Friday, 5 June 2009
Guest Writer: Debbie Downer
You ever have one of those days when you find out a 14-year-old former student murdered another student? Erm. Me neither.
But if I did, it would be awful. And there would be guilt about not doing enough. And there would be scanning of all interactions to see if there was something else I could have done to prevent it. There would be major cognitive dissonance. He was a nice kid. He had potential. He got sucked into a gang. He didn’t have the skills to think through what would happen if he actually shot another kid. I know that most people file “gang member” under “evil misfit” in their minds and move on with their lives, but it’s far more complex. He was a sweet kid. He was vulnerable to influence. He didn’t have many successes in school and was looking for a way to feel connected and powerful. I think there are two victims. One is gone at the age of 13 and one is in jail for the rest of his life.
There is a “spidering” of retaliation that is happening amongst my students, their older siblings, and their families. Some of my students say they admire the shooter. Some of my students are in danger. I feel powerless. I know I try to keep things light here at Notes From the School Psychologist, filling the blogospere with warm fuzzies, but I don’t want to sugar-coat how hard it is to be the person people go to when these things happen and ask, “what do we do?”
I was okay with my crisis intervention role when I got the call that I needed to go to the nearby middle school because of a shooting. It certainly wasn’t the first time my crisis team number had been called to do grief counseling. And I put on my objective psychologist hat* and grabbed my kit of crayons, paper, empathy, and crisis management skills.
In my team of other school psychologists, I saw all the kids coming in to mourn the 6th grader who was killed. They said things like, “He was really funny” and “He never came to class, but when he did, he made me laugh.” He was clearly in a gang. The kids said, “It’s so dumb he died for a color.” I processed the confusion, sadness, and anger with his friends, and sat with a girl who cried and clutched the kid’s beanie hat, as a last reminder of her friend. She wasn’t going to the funeral because she was afraid of retaliation. Then she said the shooter’s name. And my heart sank. It was one of MY kids. I knew him last year before he transferred out of my school. No longer an anonymous gang member, I was no longer that effective in my objective psychologist role. I managed to pull it together and see more kids that day, but I told my supervisor I didn’t feel like I would be effective in that role for the following day. I mean, how can anyone have empathy for a killer and grief counsel the victim’s friends at the same time?
A week has passed. No media coverage at all of the tragedy, except one blip on the 10 o’ Clock news the day after. Looks like the media has also filed it away under “evil gang members we can’t do anything about.” I wonder if this had happened in a fancy part of San Francisco, if Time Magazine would be all over it, opening a discussion about youth violence. It angers me.
Interestingly, I had JUST gone to a seminar on Student Threat Assessment, and we spent two days talking about how rare these events are, but how it’s our job to take every threat seriously. We can’t predict who will be a killer, but we can take steps following every threat. This kid never made a threat that I could have followed up on. But I knew he was vulnerable and interested in gangs. I wish I could have done more.
Debbie Downer would like to conclude with a sad fact that you can’t save everyone in this field. You do your best, and sometimes, the outside influences are stronger than you. You can clean the air inside your school, make it nurturing, follow up with kids who need help, and do your best. Sometimes it seems like the front door of your school is a screen door, and all the negative community influences just come right in and there’s nothing you can do. Except your best.
(Insert Debbie Downer noise here)
*It’s not actually a hat, but if it were, it would be like a Sherlock Holmes hat, I think, to symbolize the objective taking in of data/clues. See, humor is my defense mechanism from trauma. You probably noticed that already.
But if I did, it would be awful. And there would be guilt about not doing enough. And there would be scanning of all interactions to see if there was something else I could have done to prevent it. There would be major cognitive dissonance. He was a nice kid. He had potential. He got sucked into a gang. He didn’t have the skills to think through what would happen if he actually shot another kid. I know that most people file “gang member” under “evil misfit” in their minds and move on with their lives, but it’s far more complex. He was a sweet kid. He was vulnerable to influence. He didn’t have many successes in school and was looking for a way to feel connected and powerful. I think there are two victims. One is gone at the age of 13 and one is in jail for the rest of his life.
There is a “spidering” of retaliation that is happening amongst my students, their older siblings, and their families. Some of my students say they admire the shooter. Some of my students are in danger. I feel powerless. I know I try to keep things light here at Notes From the School Psychologist, filling the blogospere with warm fuzzies, but I don’t want to sugar-coat how hard it is to be the person people go to when these things happen and ask, “what do we do?”
I was okay with my crisis intervention role when I got the call that I needed to go to the nearby middle school because of a shooting. It certainly wasn’t the first time my crisis team number had been called to do grief counseling. And I put on my objective psychologist hat* and grabbed my kit of crayons, paper, empathy, and crisis management skills.
In my team of other school psychologists, I saw all the kids coming in to mourn the 6th grader who was killed. They said things like, “He was really funny” and “He never came to class, but when he did, he made me laugh.” He was clearly in a gang. The kids said, “It’s so dumb he died for a color.” I processed the confusion, sadness, and anger with his friends, and sat with a girl who cried and clutched the kid’s beanie hat, as a last reminder of her friend. She wasn’t going to the funeral because she was afraid of retaliation. Then she said the shooter’s name. And my heart sank. It was one of MY kids. I knew him last year before he transferred out of my school. No longer an anonymous gang member, I was no longer that effective in my objective psychologist role. I managed to pull it together and see more kids that day, but I told my supervisor I didn’t feel like I would be effective in that role for the following day. I mean, how can anyone have empathy for a killer and grief counsel the victim’s friends at the same time?
A week has passed. No media coverage at all of the tragedy, except one blip on the 10 o’ Clock news the day after. Looks like the media has also filed it away under “evil gang members we can’t do anything about.” I wonder if this had happened in a fancy part of San Francisco, if Time Magazine would be all over it, opening a discussion about youth violence. It angers me.
Interestingly, I had JUST gone to a seminar on Student Threat Assessment, and we spent two days talking about how rare these events are, but how it’s our job to take every threat seriously. We can’t predict who will be a killer, but we can take steps following every threat. This kid never made a threat that I could have followed up on. But I knew he was vulnerable and interested in gangs. I wish I could have done more.
Debbie Downer would like to conclude with a sad fact that you can’t save everyone in this field. You do your best, and sometimes, the outside influences are stronger than you. You can clean the air inside your school, make it nurturing, follow up with kids who need help, and do your best. Sometimes it seems like the front door of your school is a screen door, and all the negative community influences just come right in and there’s nothing you can do. Except your best.
(Insert Debbie Downer noise here)
*It’s not actually a hat, but if it were, it would be like a Sherlock Holmes hat, I think, to symbolize the objective taking in of data/clues. See, humor is my defense mechanism from trauma. You probably noticed that already.
Sunday, 7 December 2008
Obama on Climate Control
My fiancé and I have a tradition of watching Meet The Press every Sunday to catch up on the state of our nation.* It is mandatory that I have at least one cup of coffee in hand prior to activating the TiVo. The TiVo is necessary for when we want to pause to jump in on the commentary, because we take our MTP very seriously and do not want to miss anything. We do fast forward through haters and Negative Neds/Nancys, through lately I like to hear what they have to say, so I can throw pillow and whatnot at the tele. It really jump-starts my Sunday.
Today, Obama was on, and I told fiancé that he better at least say one thing about Education to give me some hope.** After 55 minutes of his plans to save the world economy, fix our global climate crisis, and end all wars, (all perfectly reasonable goals), I nearly spilled my coffee when he also said he would make it a priority to rebuild our schools. Now this wasn’t metaphorical rebuilding, but actual rebuilding the schools to be more energy efficient, etc. On the heels of a discussion on Ms. Mimi’s blog about the ludicrous “The heat is either on or off” policy of most urban schools, I was delighted.
Presently, my school has opted for the “The heat is off” policy, which in December is not the best choice, even in California. Northern California is not the California of the sunny post card, by the way. Then again, some of my colleagues in snowy areas are in short sleeve shirts, sweltering in December, so I’m not sure which is worse. I will tell you that I feel like I’m lying to kids when I say that my office is a space where they can come to relax when it feels not unlike the arctic tundra. “Yes, it a degree back here, but doesn’t it make you feel warm inside to talk to me? No? Okay.”
Now, I am a problem-solver. I got a space heater the other day and was so excited that I was going to be able to feel my fingers as I typed, but alas, I was foiled again by 1940s building plans, because there is no electrical outlet in my office. The nearest outlet is at least an extension cord or two away. The good news is, no one will be able to sneak up on me in my office, what with my new trip-wire in place.
Fourty-four days and counting…c’mon Obama, don’t let us down.
*Oh how we miss Tim Russert. In case anyone was wondering, we approve of David Gregory as a replacement. I realize no one was wondering. I just wanted to put it out there.
**Hope. So hot right now.
Today, Obama was on, and I told fiancé that he better at least say one thing about Education to give me some hope.** After 55 minutes of his plans to save the world economy, fix our global climate crisis, and end all wars, (all perfectly reasonable goals), I nearly spilled my coffee when he also said he would make it a priority to rebuild our schools. Now this wasn’t metaphorical rebuilding, but actual rebuilding the schools to be more energy efficient, etc. On the heels of a discussion on Ms. Mimi’s blog about the ludicrous “The heat is either on or off” policy of most urban schools, I was delighted.
Presently, my school has opted for the “The heat is off” policy, which in December is not the best choice, even in California. Northern California is not the California of the sunny post card, by the way. Then again, some of my colleagues in snowy areas are in short sleeve shirts, sweltering in December, so I’m not sure which is worse. I will tell you that I feel like I’m lying to kids when I say that my office is a space where they can come to relax when it feels not unlike the arctic tundra. “Yes, it a degree back here, but doesn’t it make you feel warm inside to talk to me? No? Okay.”
Now, I am a problem-solver. I got a space heater the other day and was so excited that I was going to be able to feel my fingers as I typed, but alas, I was foiled again by 1940s building plans, because there is no electrical outlet in my office. The nearest outlet is at least an extension cord or two away. The good news is, no one will be able to sneak up on me in my office, what with my new trip-wire in place.
Fourty-four days and counting…c’mon Obama, don’t let us down.
*Oh how we miss Tim Russert. In case anyone was wondering, we approve of David Gregory as a replacement. I realize no one was wondering. I just wanted to put it out there.
**Hope. So hot right now.
Thursday, 4 December 2008
My Kingdom for a Printer
I’ve been following the saga of Mrs. Mimi, and her battle for basic needs in her school, such as a parking spot, in My Kingdom for a Parking Space. While hers takes the cake for wackness in education, I have to report that it’s pathetic that I can’t get a working printer in the public school on the cusp of 2009, especially when my job entails writing lengthy reports on whether or not kids have learning disabilities, Autism, ADHD, Emotional Disabilities, etc. etc. Not to toot my own horn, but I think it’s important for parents and schools to have a written copy of such things.
I wont go into boring detail, but on Tuesday, I almost lost it, in manner of the movie Office Space in which the guy freaks out because the printer keeps saying “PC Letter Load” and he ends up smashing the thing with a bat in a field after work. Since I have a nonviolent temperament, I will use an “I message” instead. *
Printer, I feel frustrated when things that should take 5 minutes, like printing a report, takes days because I have a laptop with no Internet or printer connector so I can’t print at school.** I feel sad that I have to drive 10 miles away to use the one printer that we have for the 40 psychologists. I feel angry when the printer wasn’t working, then it was, but then there was no white paper. I need A WORKING PRINTER.
The funny part of this story is that I used Twitter to voice my frustration, writing, “All I want for Christmas is a working printer in my school” and this morning, I received a notice that Riso Printers, Inc. was now following me on Twitter. Stay tuned, Riso.
*For those of you who don't hang around the yoots, educators are big fans of the "I Message" in which you tell someone how you are feeling and what you need. Some of my little ones don't quite get the concept yet, and say, "I hate you." We're working on it.
**Don't say flashdrive. I forgot it that day.
Thursday, 30 October 2008
I Believe You Have My Stapler.
You know that scene in Office Space in which Milton, the mumbling guy who has to move his desk all the time, has to move again, and all he has to hold on to is a red stapler? That stapler is HIS and it’s all he has. He has no dignity, but he’s got his stapler. And he’s gonna cling to it.
Unlike Milton, I am so blessed to have an actual 3X6 foot office WITH A DOOR at my public middle school. I am not being sarcastic, for once. Space is a commodity at schools, and private space is unheard of. As many of you know, it took me over 8 months to get an actual key to this office, due to bureaucratic nonsense.* Prior to that, I had to lug my bags into the main office, get a key, lug my bags into the office, run the key back to the office, pray all day that no one came in to take my stuff from an unlocked office, then get the key at the end of the day to lock up again. So you can imagine my territorial reaction to the following note, placed upon my desk last week:
Hi. This is Judy and I am the new speech pathologist. I need you to clean out one of your file drawers for my files and I will need to get your key to share.
Oh no she di’nt! Who does she think she is? I earned that key! I earned that drawer! That’s MY stapler! She will have to pry that key out of my tiny, angry, shaking fist of fury on the day I leave this job! *deep breath* I’m okay now. I am not opposed to sharing. I will behave. I just resent the tone of the note. Maybe she comes from a school where it is normal to have an office and a key, no problems. So I cleaned out a drawer for her, like a good coworker.
But she’s not getting my key. She will have to earn it, just like I did. I am officially Miltina.
*I do not yet have a key to the building to get into said office, so every morning I get to hunt down a janitor whilst holding five million bags of stuff, wielding large coffee about. Someday I will have paid my dues long enough to earn that key…*wistfully stares into future*
Unlike Milton, I am so blessed to have an actual 3X6 foot office WITH A DOOR at my public middle school. I am not being sarcastic, for once. Space is a commodity at schools, and private space is unheard of. As many of you know, it took me over 8 months to get an actual key to this office, due to bureaucratic nonsense.* Prior to that, I had to lug my bags into the main office, get a key, lug my bags into the office, run the key back to the office, pray all day that no one came in to take my stuff from an unlocked office, then get the key at the end of the day to lock up again. So you can imagine my territorial reaction to the following note, placed upon my desk last week:
Hi. This is Judy and I am the new speech pathologist. I need you to clean out one of your file drawers for my files and I will need to get your key to share.
Oh no she di’nt! Who does she think she is? I earned that key! I earned that drawer! That’s MY stapler! She will have to pry that key out of my tiny, angry, shaking fist of fury on the day I leave this job! *deep breath* I’m okay now. I am not opposed to sharing. I will behave. I just resent the tone of the note. Maybe she comes from a school where it is normal to have an office and a key, no problems. So I cleaned out a drawer for her, like a good coworker.
But she’s not getting my key. She will have to earn it, just like I did. I am officially Miltina.
*I do not yet have a key to the building to get into said office, so every morning I get to hunt down a janitor whilst holding five million bags of stuff, wielding large coffee about. Someday I will have paid my dues long enough to earn that key…*wistfully stares into future*
Tuesday, 14 October 2008
Welcome to Developmentally Inappropriate University!
In my other life, when I am not wrestling with issues in urban education, I also work in private practice at a number of private schools. As I’ve said before, every day is a compare/contrast essay in my head. Each day is a new chapter, with new “Wait, what???” moments.
I thought I had heard it all, until I came across a family of a 3-year-old girl, who told me she was a Sophomore.
Me: Wait, what???
Family: Our child is a sophomore at Pre-College.*
Me: Is that a Pre-school?
Family: Yes, she is in her second year there, so she is a sophomore.
Me: (writing down, trying not to judge) Okay then, your 3-year-old is getting ready for her Junior year of Pre-College, got it.
Really? Have we gotten to the point where we are now preparing our 3-year-olds for college already? What’s her major, Fingerpaint Arts? Will she have a minor in Theories of Dollies? I can’t help but wonder if this “College Starts in Utero!” phenomenon is damaging our kids. I see it frequently in the kids I test who are *gasp* average and their schools are pushing inappropriately difficult curriculum on them, so they appear to be failures.
California is notorious for their “Standards Based Curriculum” being shoved into every classroom, and I have to say it can be disheartening for kids to not “meet the standard,” even when the standard is too high for their normal brain development. In California, we like to raise the bar of expectations, and then not give the kids any tools to reach it. Jump, kid! Jump higher than your gross-motor skills allow! Thanks, No Child Left Behind!
Excuse me, while I get down from my soapbox again. Right. So what can we as educators and parents do about it? What do we do when an average kid is doing average and meant to feel “behind”? As a school psychologist, I normalize wanting the best for the student. I share what developmental milestones are typical for that age group, and assuage fears of being behind. I use curriculum-based and standardized testing data to show that 50th percentile is not the same as 50%. If your child scores at the 50th percentile, s/he did better than half of the students who took the test, and that is average. And average is okay. I just hope Pre-College understands that, so my little one doesn’t become a drop-out at age 4.
*Almost the exact name. I don’t like to mock people outright, so I changed it slightly. Still the same “Wait, what???” reaction would come from the real name, I promise.
Sunday, 28 September 2008
Frau Psychologist!
Every school district has THAT psychologist. THAT psychologist who everyone is hoping will just retire already. Everyone is just waiting a few more years for that incompetent person to leave. The mere mention of THAT psychologist’s name strikes fear and disgust in people’s hearts. The other day, a colleague said the name of an incompetent employee we know and I reflexively repeated her name in a low voice, with one squinty, suspicious eye. She laughed at my Pavlovian response to her name, as it is well known this person should not be around children, let alone be responsible for any portion of a child's mental health.
My visceral negative reaction to this person's name is not unlike the scene in Young Frankenstein in which every time they say Frau Blucher’s name, the horses whinny up in fear. My colleague and I had a good time whinnying that day.
Do watch the whole clip. The last 5 seconds are the best.
I have had to work with this Frau Psychologist (Niiiiiiihiiiii!)* before. She is presently still employed in an unnamed district and is approaching her 6, maybe 7,000th year as a “school psychologist.” I put that in quotations, because she does not resemble what I think of as a school psychologist. Some of her infractions include:
1) Writing incoherent reports that use 3 different kids’ names in them and read like this: Derek’s scores indicate that Franklin is in the above average range with below average skills. Casey showed poor reading skills, along with excellent reading comprehension. Results indicate that . No, I didn’t forget to finish typing, that was her conclusion.
2) Not having a basic understanding that a kid can be behind in reading or math and it is not due to a disability. A teenager she tested had just came from Mexico two weeks prior to testing, did poorly on reading in a language he didn’t know, and she concluded he was learning disabled and he went in special education.
3) Incessant noisy gum chewing. Ok, that doesn’t make you a bad school psychologist, but it sure is annoying *smak* to *smak* listen *smak* to *smak* that *smak* in *smak* between *smak* *smak* *smak* words.
4) Frau Psychologist (Niiiiiihiiiii!)* also angers easily and is toxic in every meeting. Once, when asked to contribute money to the social fund for a psychologist who was ill and in the hospital, she argued that she shouldn’t have to because no one got her anything when she was sick last year. Nice empathy.
5) As you can imagine, any psychologist who followed in her footsteps had a boatload of unethical, incompetent assessments to re-do. When a child was due for re-testing, I would cautiously open up the file, say a silent prayer she didn’t do the last testing, and then of course, have to re-do it entirely and tell the parents that we were just kidding about that learning disability.
How can it be that such incompetent people continue to shame our profession? Does this happen in other professions? Are there Frau Accountants, Frau Teachers and Herr Human Resource Guy? How are these people not fired???
All I know is I came across a Frau Psychologist* report the other day and inadvertently whinnied out loud and reared my arms up in manner of horse, and then had a lot of explaining to do to my co-workers around me. Maybe soon I will be the crazy psychologist people hope they don’t have to deal with. Then, it will be officially time to retire.
*Niiiiiiihiiiiii! Horse whinnying sound.
My visceral negative reaction to this person's name is not unlike the scene in Young Frankenstein in which every time they say Frau Blucher’s name, the horses whinny up in fear. My colleague and I had a good time whinnying that day.
Do watch the whole clip. The last 5 seconds are the best.
I have had to work with this Frau Psychologist (Niiiiiiihiiiii!)* before. She is presently still employed in an unnamed district and is approaching her 6, maybe 7,000th year as a “school psychologist.” I put that in quotations, because she does not resemble what I think of as a school psychologist. Some of her infractions include:
1) Writing incoherent reports that use 3 different kids’ names in them and read like this: Derek’s scores indicate that Franklin is in the above average range with below average skills. Casey showed poor reading skills, along with excellent reading comprehension. Results indicate that . No, I didn’t forget to finish typing, that was her conclusion.
2) Not having a basic understanding that a kid can be behind in reading or math and it is not due to a disability. A teenager she tested had just came from Mexico two weeks prior to testing, did poorly on reading in a language he didn’t know, and she concluded he was learning disabled and he went in special education.
3) Incessant noisy gum chewing. Ok, that doesn’t make you a bad school psychologist, but it sure is annoying *smak* to *smak* listen *smak* to *smak* that *smak* in *smak* between *smak* *smak* *smak* words.
4) Frau Psychologist (Niiiiiihiiiii!)* also angers easily and is toxic in every meeting. Once, when asked to contribute money to the social fund for a psychologist who was ill and in the hospital, she argued that she shouldn’t have to because no one got her anything when she was sick last year. Nice empathy.
5) As you can imagine, any psychologist who followed in her footsteps had a boatload of unethical, incompetent assessments to re-do. When a child was due for re-testing, I would cautiously open up the file, say a silent prayer she didn’t do the last testing, and then of course, have to re-do it entirely and tell the parents that we were just kidding about that learning disability.
How can it be that such incompetent people continue to shame our profession? Does this happen in other professions? Are there Frau Accountants, Frau Teachers and Herr Human Resource Guy? How are these people not fired???
All I know is I came across a Frau Psychologist* report the other day and inadvertently whinnied out loud and reared my arms up in manner of horse, and then had a lot of explaining to do to my co-workers around me. Maybe soon I will be the crazy psychologist people hope they don’t have to deal with. Then, it will be officially time to retire.
*Niiiiiiihiiiiii! Horse whinnying sound.
Sunday, 21 September 2008
The One in Which My Lunch is Interrupted by a Faux Knife Fight
The teacher’s lounge can be a scary place to be. I have been assigned as the school psychologist in no less than 10 different schools in the past few years and have seen my fair share of teacher’s lounges. Each one has it’s own culture. Sometimes, I judge a school by the collegiality of the Teacher’s Lounge. There was Peace Elementary School* which sported a Teacher’s Lounge/Book Room/Ant Farm that I avoided like the plague because every time I went there I got the inappropriate disclosure from the teachers. I’m a psychologist, not your psychologist so I’d rather not hear about how you are cheating on your husband while I eat my sandwich. Also: not interested in your porn addiction.
Then, there was Haides Middle School’s Teacher’s Lounge.* One could not really call it a “Teacher’s Lounge” as it was more of a classroom with microwave and a copy machine. No one ever sat down in there except me. I was all eager “let’s consult!” newbie who quickly learned that some lounges are toxic to the soul. This room should have had a dark, rainy cloud over it in manner of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. It wasn’t a lounge, but really just a scowly-teacher waystation, filled with inappropriate judgments about the kids. I never went in there again after I asked a teacher how the Jones twins were doing and the teacher said, “Jim is a crack-head nitwit, but not as big of a crack-head nitwit as his twin.” Lovely.
But I have digressed from the knife fight. It’s coming, I promise.
The Teachers Lounge I was in the other day is a nice attempt at fostering joint-lunch consumption. However, I have never seen anyone in there but me. Some teachers fly by to grab something out of the fridge, say hi, and quickly dart back to their rooms. So I eat alone. In order to entertain myself, I spy on the children at recess through the window. It is quite a show. The fun game I play every day as I sit down to eat, is “Let’s hop right back up from my meal, poke my head out the window and break up a play fight.” I intervene early in the chain of behavior because play fighting is the gateway drug to real fighting. But today I really wanted to eat my lunch warm. I watched the beginnings of a play fight as I ate my salmon, fashioning myself as an ethnographer of tweens:
12:08pm. Subjects engage in hierarchy-establishing pseudo-aggression to establish dominance. Note smiling while pushing.
And then, out comes the knife. Crap. I should have intervened earlier. To my credit, I could tell that it was a giant fake knife, so instead of panicking, I mentally noted the backpack from which it came and the students who touched it. I have been through grad school and know that eyewitness testimony is flawed and I didn’t want to make a mistake. Most school districts have a zero-tolerance approach to fake or real weapons. I went outside and opened my hand for them to give it to me. They played dumb for a second until I told them I was in the Teacher’s Lounge and saw everything. They tried to pass one over on “La Blanca”** by talking in Spanish to each other about their lie. HA! I know what “mochilla” means! Gotcha!
And the moral of my story is: Eat in your own classroom or office. No, wait, sorry, it’s to intervene early in the chain of behavior and have more supervision in “hot spots” like the one near the Teacher’s Lounge.
*Totally a pseudonym.
**Kids who don’t know me have actually called me this. The White.
Then, there was Haides Middle School’s Teacher’s Lounge.* One could not really call it a “Teacher’s Lounge” as it was more of a classroom with microwave and a copy machine. No one ever sat down in there except me. I was all eager “let’s consult!” newbie who quickly learned that some lounges are toxic to the soul. This room should have had a dark, rainy cloud over it in manner of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. It wasn’t a lounge, but really just a scowly-teacher waystation, filled with inappropriate judgments about the kids. I never went in there again after I asked a teacher how the Jones twins were doing and the teacher said, “Jim is a crack-head nitwit, but not as big of a crack-head nitwit as his twin.” Lovely.
But I have digressed from the knife fight. It’s coming, I promise.
The Teachers Lounge I was in the other day is a nice attempt at fostering joint-lunch consumption. However, I have never seen anyone in there but me. Some teachers fly by to grab something out of the fridge, say hi, and quickly dart back to their rooms. So I eat alone. In order to entertain myself, I spy on the children at recess through the window. It is quite a show. The fun game I play every day as I sit down to eat, is “Let’s hop right back up from my meal, poke my head out the window and break up a play fight.” I intervene early in the chain of behavior because play fighting is the gateway drug to real fighting. But today I really wanted to eat my lunch warm. I watched the beginnings of a play fight as I ate my salmon, fashioning myself as an ethnographer of tweens:
12:08pm. Subjects engage in hierarchy-establishing pseudo-aggression to establish dominance. Note smiling while pushing.
And then, out comes the knife. Crap. I should have intervened earlier. To my credit, I could tell that it was a giant fake knife, so instead of panicking, I mentally noted the backpack from which it came and the students who touched it. I have been through grad school and know that eyewitness testimony is flawed and I didn’t want to make a mistake. Most school districts have a zero-tolerance approach to fake or real weapons. I went outside and opened my hand for them to give it to me. They played dumb for a second until I told them I was in the Teacher’s Lounge and saw everything. They tried to pass one over on “La Blanca”** by talking in Spanish to each other about their lie. HA! I know what “mochilla” means! Gotcha!
And the moral of my story is: Eat in your own classroom or office. No, wait, sorry, it’s to intervene early in the chain of behavior and have more supervision in “hot spots” like the one near the Teacher’s Lounge.
*Totally a pseudonym.
**Kids who don’t know me have actually called me this. The White.
Tuesday, 9 September 2008
Special Education: The Department of Redundancy Department
This is the post in which I realize that crazy has become normal. Since I’ve been immersed in crazy for 7 years, I didn't even realize what I was saying today was crazy until I said it to a new staff member. I actually found myself in the following conversation:
New Administrator: Can we make a referral for mental health services for a student who may be a student special education? I think the student needs some counseling.
Me: Sure, I just have to fill out the paperwork. First, I will send out a notice of intention to assess the student, distribute the paperwork to document the prior interventions, then once that’s signed by the parent, I can then send out the actual assessment plan to the parent, which they will need to return, then we can start the assessment. Then, 60 days later, if the student qualifies, we can initiate another referral for mental health, in which I document the same information on a new form, then mental health will send out an assessment plan to do essentially the same assessment I just did, then the parent will return that and they will do the assessment, and in 60 days, we will have a meeting to see if we can get the student mental health services.
New Administrator: (stunned silence)
Me: I know, it’s dumb. Let me just get permission to check in on the kid this week.
This is the problem with my job in the public schools. It takes over 120 days to get something easy done. Over the years, I’ve learned that the biggest gift I can give to those I work with, especially the parents, (many of which do not know the process, are rightfully intimidated by the process, don’t speak English, and did not obtain special education law degrees) is to streamline the redundancy for them. If I can cut out a dumb step legally, I’ll do it. Sometimes though, I’m bound to the redundant dumbness.
And I’m bound to the redundant dumbness too.
New Administrator: Can we make a referral for mental health services for a student who may be a student special education? I think the student needs some counseling.
Me: Sure, I just have to fill out the paperwork. First, I will send out a notice of intention to assess the student, distribute the paperwork to document the prior interventions, then once that’s signed by the parent, I can then send out the actual assessment plan to the parent, which they will need to return, then we can start the assessment. Then, 60 days later, if the student qualifies, we can initiate another referral for mental health, in which I document the same information on a new form, then mental health will send out an assessment plan to do essentially the same assessment I just did, then the parent will return that and they will do the assessment, and in 60 days, we will have a meeting to see if we can get the student mental health services.
New Administrator: (stunned silence)
Me: I know, it’s dumb. Let me just get permission to check in on the kid this week.
This is the problem with my job in the public schools. It takes over 120 days to get something easy done. Over the years, I’ve learned that the biggest gift I can give to those I work with, especially the parents, (many of which do not know the process, are rightfully intimidated by the process, don’t speak English, and did not obtain special education law degrees) is to streamline the redundancy for them. If I can cut out a dumb step legally, I’ll do it. Sometimes though, I’m bound to the redundant dumbness.
And I’m bound to the redundant dumbness too.
Tuesday, 2 September 2008
Pay Attention!
I recently got in a fender bender in my car, which I could blame on my dog for being so cute in the back seat, but really, it was all my fault. I was distracted by said dog, and just rolled right into the lady in front of me. She was really nice, but she kept saying, “Why did you do that?” and “Why weren’t you paying attention?” I kept apologizing, but after the 10th time she asked my why I wasn't paying attention, I whined, “I ran into you because it was an accident! That is why it is called an accident and not an on-purpose!”
In general, I have excellent focus. If you reviewed my school records, it would not say what I see over and over as a school psychologist reviewing records: “Rebecca has potential when she pays attention.”* But this week, I guess I was literally driven to distraction. I felt bad enough for hitting this woman, and then even worse when she kept blaming me for my lack of focus. Not. Helpful.
I couldn’t help but think of my students with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) who are constantly being told they need to pay attention. I wonder if that is also not helpful. I wonder if there is a cumulative effect of discouragement when every time someone says your name it is to tell you to pay attention, focus, or get “on task.” There are certainly times when all students need reminders, but if you have ADD, I bet you get them all the time. I will make a point this week to use my springing social skills* in the classroom by ascending upon children who are focused this week, and praise them.
*Preschool teachers did note that, “Rebecca would like others to think she is shy, but she really likes to socialize.” What does that mean? I spring my extroversion on unsuspecting peers? I have this image of shy 5 year old me hiding behind the bookshelf in the reading corner and then jumping out at a small group of kids screaming, “HA! Play with me!”
In general, I have excellent focus. If you reviewed my school records, it would not say what I see over and over as a school psychologist reviewing records: “Rebecca has potential when she pays attention.”* But this week, I guess I was literally driven to distraction. I felt bad enough for hitting this woman, and then even worse when she kept blaming me for my lack of focus. Not. Helpful.
I couldn’t help but think of my students with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) who are constantly being told they need to pay attention. I wonder if that is also not helpful. I wonder if there is a cumulative effect of discouragement when every time someone says your name it is to tell you to pay attention, focus, or get “on task.” There are certainly times when all students need reminders, but if you have ADD, I bet you get them all the time. I will make a point this week to use my springing social skills* in the classroom by ascending upon children who are focused this week, and praise them.
*Preschool teachers did note that, “Rebecca would like others to think she is shy, but she really likes to socialize.” What does that mean? I spring my extroversion on unsuspecting peers? I have this image of shy 5 year old me hiding behind the bookshelf in the reading corner and then jumping out at a small group of kids screaming, “HA! Play with me!”
Monday, 28 July 2008
The Wackness in Education
I love independent films. I went to one last night called “The Wackness” about a drug dealer kid in NYC in 1994, who falls in love for the first time and finds himself and whatnot.
My favorite scene was when he and love interest are having a deep talk and she says, “You know what’s wrong with you? I always see the dope-ness in life and you always see the wackness.”
1994-lingo aside, it was an interesting way to describe pessimism and optimism. Readers who have been with me a while know that I like to focus on the positive and even try to be optimistic when my car is stolen, but not burned. But there are certainly times when enough “wackness” in the bureaucracy of public schools gets to you. This is one of those times, in which one must vent a little. May I present to you:
An Open Letter to “The System”
Dear Public Education System,
I am writing to express my dissatisfaction with your bureaucratic ways. I am not working in your System this summer, and yet you still plague me. As an aside, are you, “The System,” a close relative of “The Man?” Do you meet on a bi-annual basis and discuss ways to keep people down? Is there a secret password to get into this meeting, or is there some sort of top-secret retinal scan situation?
I am writing because I have been receiving endless letters highlighting your dysfunction all summer and with each one, I think, “Aha! That’s where the money for public education goes!”
First, I have been receiving letters from a school district I haven’t worked for in several years, threatening to suspend me if I don’t get my “I’m free of Tuberculosis” paperwork in. You have threatened on 3 occasions to put these letters “in my file” and suspend me. You do that, System. You suspend me from that job I left years ago. By the way, my new district only lost my TB paperwork once. Take that!
Second, I haven’t been paid for my work from April and it is now almost August. Thankfully, as a civil servant, my paycheck from February more than covers living in the Bay Area for 5 months (cough cough). Each day, I hope for that check, and today, I was so excited to see a letter with your name on it in my mailbox! Alas, it was not my wages, but rather a giant, important packet about the System’s position on Northern Ireland. I promptly returned my signature that I will indeed abide by the MacBride Principles in the event that I do business with Northern Ireland. You know, for all those cross-continent business dealings I do working in the local public school.
Third, my sick days are still inaccurate from a year ago. I really don’t know how I can take .047 sick days anyway. Could you please move the decimal point sometime this millennium? Please refer to the 47589475983473 prior communications on fixing this simple error that could ruin my life when I want to take maternity leave someday. Oh! And by the way, thanks for considering motherhood an illness.
Lastly, I want to thank you. I don’t want to be a Negative Nancy all the time, now do I? I want to thank you, The System, for improving my angry letter writing skills (the final draft of this letter will have some angry looking font, like maybe Ariel Bold Italic). I also want to thank you for the Bureaucratic OCD I have developed in documenting everything in triplicate. One thing You have taught me is that if it isn’t in writing, it didn’t happen. And finally, thanks so much for giving me a way to fill my summer vacation hours!
Yours Truly,
Rebecca
P.S. Someone once said to me that sarcasm is rooted in anger. What? Me? Sarcastic? Never. I love everything about public education.
My favorite scene was when he and love interest are having a deep talk and she says, “You know what’s wrong with you? I always see the dope-ness in life and you always see the wackness.”
1994-lingo aside, it was an interesting way to describe pessimism and optimism. Readers who have been with me a while know that I like to focus on the positive and even try to be optimistic when my car is stolen, but not burned. But there are certainly times when enough “wackness” in the bureaucracy of public schools gets to you. This is one of those times, in which one must vent a little. May I present to you:
An Open Letter to “The System”
Dear Public Education System,
I am writing to express my dissatisfaction with your bureaucratic ways. I am not working in your System this summer, and yet you still plague me. As an aside, are you, “The System,” a close relative of “The Man?” Do you meet on a bi-annual basis and discuss ways to keep people down? Is there a secret password to get into this meeting, or is there some sort of top-secret retinal scan situation?
I am writing because I have been receiving endless letters highlighting your dysfunction all summer and with each one, I think, “Aha! That’s where the money for public education goes!”
First, I have been receiving letters from a school district I haven’t worked for in several years, threatening to suspend me if I don’t get my “I’m free of Tuberculosis” paperwork in. You have threatened on 3 occasions to put these letters “in my file” and suspend me. You do that, System. You suspend me from that job I left years ago. By the way, my new district only lost my TB paperwork once. Take that!
Second, I haven’t been paid for my work from April and it is now almost August. Thankfully, as a civil servant, my paycheck from February more than covers living in the Bay Area for 5 months (cough cough). Each day, I hope for that check, and today, I was so excited to see a letter with your name on it in my mailbox! Alas, it was not my wages, but rather a giant, important packet about the System’s position on Northern Ireland. I promptly returned my signature that I will indeed abide by the MacBride Principles in the event that I do business with Northern Ireland. You know, for all those cross-continent business dealings I do working in the local public school.
Third, my sick days are still inaccurate from a year ago. I really don’t know how I can take .047 sick days anyway. Could you please move the decimal point sometime this millennium? Please refer to the 47589475983473 prior communications on fixing this simple error that could ruin my life when I want to take maternity leave someday. Oh! And by the way, thanks for considering motherhood an illness.
Lastly, I want to thank you. I don’t want to be a Negative Nancy all the time, now do I? I want to thank you, The System, for improving my angry letter writing skills (the final draft of this letter will have some angry looking font, like maybe Ariel Bold Italic). I also want to thank you for the Bureaucratic OCD I have developed in documenting everything in triplicate. One thing You have taught me is that if it isn’t in writing, it didn’t happen. And finally, thanks so much for giving me a way to fill my summer vacation hours!
Yours Truly,
Rebecca
P.S. Someone once said to me that sarcasm is rooted in anger. What? Me? Sarcastic? Never. I love everything about public education.
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